


Restraints + Leverage

by tommino



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Captured, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt!Jack, Hurt!Mac, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Touching, Presumed character death, Protective!Jack, Torture, Whump, broken ribs, but not graphic torture dont worry, murdoc being creepy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-10-15 07:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17524361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommino/pseuds/tommino
Summary: “But for now, I want you to tell me the location of Phoenix’s California safehouses,” Murdoc says. “Speak up, cowboy.”“Well I'd like a medium rare steak, but we can’t always get what we want," Jack immediately snarks. “How ‘bout you take a long walk off a short pier?” Mac tenses for the retaliation that’s sure to answer.But instead of getting mad or lashing out, Murdoc just smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”And then he turns on Mac.--This time, Murdoc takes them both. When the assassin needs information, he knows that the best way to get Jack to talk… is hurting Mac.





	1. Capture

 

.

 

.

 

“Remind me again how baking soda and packing tape are going to catch an arms dealer for us?” Jack asks. He keeps his eyes trained on the warehouse door, while MacGyver crouches down beside him to sprinkle powder on the side of a crate.

 

“We’ll still have to do the catching. But based on the latch mechanism, the most likely pressure point for a hand is riiiiight... here.” Mac blows carefully on the pile to spread powder across the surface. “This should find us at least a partial print somewhere on the gun case.”

 

Matty had initially sent them here for surveillance, but when the main office appeared empty… well, they had _improvised_ their way through the back door. The storage hall is dimly lit, and various metal boxes cast shadows across the concrete.

 

Being in such an open area has Jack’s nerves tingling. “How we looking out there, Riles?”

 

“No sign of movement outside the warehouse,” she answers over the comm. “But there’s so many entry points scattered around these blueprints that I don’t think Bozer and I can keep an eye on all of them.”

 

Jack glances down at Mac again. “Hurry it up then, dustbunny. Got that print yet?”

 

As soon as Jack takes his eyes off the door, a shot rings through the rafters and both agents flinch. Jack whirls around to the back of the crate, and Mac hurries to press a strip of tape to the patterns in the powder.

 

More gunfire chatters out, and Jack squeezes a few answering shots back into the dark. “Time’s up, Mac!”

 

The blonde holds up one finger while he carefully peels away the tape, powder lifting away in the shape of a few swirls. The gunshots get closer, and Jack maneuvers to put his body between Mac and the sound.

 

He empties another round into the shadows, but clearly the gunman has moved again. “We don’t even know who’s shooting at us!” Jack roars in frustration.

 

“You think you’d be used to that by now,” Riley chimes in. Beside him, Mac quirks a smile at the wisecrack. But Riley's voice is serious when the hacker switches to instructions. “Head out the south exit, Bozer is bringing our van around. Go now.”

 

Side by side behind the meager cover of their crate, the two agents make eye contact long enough to nod. And then they’re off, sprinting toward the door.

 

As soon as they start running, gunfire opens up at their heels. Bullets bite into the concrete floor ahead of them and Jack curses, veering sideways to fling himself behind another stack of crates. MacGyver stumbles into place beside Jack a second later, pressing himself against the metal with a clumsy thud.

 

“ _Oh just a recon mission. Strictly to gather evidence,_ ” Jack mimics in a high falsetto while he reloads. “My ass. Someone knew we were coming.” He peeks around the edge of the carton to fire at a figure across the warehouse. The shooter disappears back into the shadows.

 

“You workin’ on a contraption for me to see through walls or something?” Jack asks.

 

Mac’s answer is breathy. “Yeah... yeah uh, I need… a shoelace, y-your cellphone, and a-” He starts to reach down toward his boots, but cuts off with a hiss, clutching at his side.

 

Jack turns in concern at the sound, only to see Mac leaning heavily against the crate with his features pinched in pain. His breath catches in small, hitching gasps as he curls forward. Something’s wrong.

 

Goosebumps prickle along the back of Jack’s neck, eyes locked on Mac even as his instincts scream about the threat behind him. The younger agent lifts a hand from his side, red coating his palm, and slowly looks up at Jack.

 

“So… slight problem,” Mac says, and then slides to the floor. The motion leaves a smear of blood on the crate behind him.

 

“Mac- _MAC._ ” Panic swoops over him in a rush and Jack drops to his knees beside his partner, mind racing. He cups a hand to the blonde’s cheek as MacGyver tilts sideways, blinking like he’s trying to clear spots away from his vision. He mumbles some kind of warning.

 

“Hey, hey shh, stay with me now, dude,” Jack soothes. He fumbles to find the injury in the smaller agent’s side, pressing down as Riley shouts in his ear. He needs to slow the bleeding, needs to-

 

Jack feels the warm metal of a gun press against the back of his head. He freezes.  
  
“Oh, now look what you’ve made me do,” the gunman chides. The footsteps slide fractionally closer, adjusting the weapon patiently. “Let’s hope I didn’t hit anything important in poor boy genius, hm?”

 

His voice sends a sudden coldness to Jack’s core, muscles stiffening. The warmth of Mac’s blood pulses against his fingers, and the older agent doesn’t dare move his hands away. He can’t even fight back, not when he needs to keep pressure on the wound.

 

Jack is helplessly torn between trying to save Mac and needing to protect him from the killer at their backs. This is the last person he wants near an injured MacGyver; the last person he wants near any member of the team at any time, really.

 

Riley’s hushed voice sounds tinny through the mic, scared. “Is- is that…”

 

Jack swallows thickly. _“Murdoc.”_

 

The gun is gone for a moment - and the world goes black before Jack even registers the impact at the side of his head.

 

.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major plot-points are all plotted, but I am (as always) extremely suggestible. Let me know what details/scenarios/tropes you love and what you think could happen~ The best part of multichapter fics is working together to write it!!
> 
>  
> 
> _**Next chapter: Mac POV, waking up in handcuffs...**_


	2. Restraints

.

 

.

 

MacGyver wakes with a gasp.

 

Head spinning and pulse racing, he chokes halfway through the inhale when pain flares suddenly along his side. The skin across his ribs _burns._ The searing throb only increases with every breath, and Mac curls around the pain.

 

But his cringe forward is halted with a metal clang. There’s handcuffs around his wrists, digging into the thin flesh below. Mac is disoriented - unsure where he is or why he’s sitting upright in a hard chair. He blinks some more. When his eyes finally focus in the dingy light, Mac tries a quick glance over the room. He doesn’t get far.

 

Jack is sitting across from him, awake but unmoving. His wrists and legs are strapped to an old wooden chair as well, heavy layers of duct tape instead of cuffs. Jack stares dead ahead at his partner, furious expression in place.

 

Mac’s eyes widen in alarm. “Jack?”

 

The other agent doesn’t respond. Mac feels a confused frown pull at his features, unease skittering across his skin. They’re not in the warehouse anymore, he knows that much. A few weak bulbs leave the corners of the room in shadow. The walls are grimy and windowless, ceiling low. An opening behind Jack leads to another room; the edges of a rotten staircase are barely visible around the corner.

 

“Jack, what’s going on?” he asks again. “Where’s Murdoc?”

 

There’s a moment of silence, and then the double click of a cocked pistol echoes behind Mac. He stiffens, and Jack’s expression just gets darker. Hyperawareness prickles at the back of Mac’s head, senses straining to tell how close the gun is.

 

He tries one more time, softer now that he knows they aren’t alone. “J-Jack?”

 

Mac startles when a familiar voice speaks up inches from his ear, so much closer than he was expecting.

 

“I’m afraid Agent Dalton isn’t feeling very talkative right now. Strict instructions and all that.”

 

It’s only then that Mac notices Jack’s white knuckles, clenched into fists at the edge of his chair. The older agent stays silent through his simmering anger, and Mac tries not to think about what Murdoc threatened to make Jack bite his tongue like this.

 

“So you’ve just been watching me sleep then, huh?” Mac goes the extra mile to sound unaffected. “That ought to fulfill your creepiness quota for the month.” The snark is good, belying none of the turmoil twisting in his stomach.

 

Mac sees the corner of Jack’s grimace quirk. Jack lets a touch of pride slip through the anger, just a quick flash of satisfaction for Mac’s benefit. But he stays silent.

 

Murdoc circles around to Mac’s line of sight, handgun dropping to his side. The assassin adopts a casual tone of his own. “Well I was just thinking you’d prefer to be awake when I remove the bullet. Muuuuch more fun for us both, no?”

 

_Remove the…_

 

Mac had been shot, that’s right - a sharp bite in his side, palm painted red, Jack’s panicked voice from above. He looks down at his chest to see a stretch of white. Wide bandages are swathed around his ribs to hold a gauze dressing in place. His shirt is gone now, and the telltale rust of dried blood has stained the waistline of his pants.

 

Mac’s breath catches when their captor’s words sink in. The wound throbs already, skin hot and swollen tight. He can just imagine the lead lodged in his side. There’s an ache in his ribs that scrapes with every inhale; Mac can _feel_ something grinding.

 

There’d be no need to take it out, of course, but knowing Murdoc… Mac nearly whines at the idea of digging out a bullet. He can’t stop his face from going pale, and Murdoc laughs in delight.

 

“Just kidding, boy scout,” Murdoc says with a joking smile. “The shot kissed your ribcage and bounced right off. Left you with a mean break and a nasty bleed, but fortunately I packed my shiny red first aid kit.” Murdoc clicks his tongue admonishingly. “Shame you had to sleep through it all.”

 

A broken rib, then. Whatever relief Mac might have felt is quickly brushed aside when Murdoc steps closer.

 

“You should have heard the growling from Mama Bear over there while I patched you up!” He runs a hand through MacGyver’s hair, laughing again as Jack’s jaw clenches at the contact. Long fingers card lazily through Mac's blonde locks. “Seems he doesn’t like me touching you, even when I’m being _so very helpful.”_

 

Mac recoils, unnerved at the idea of Murdoc working on him while he was unconscious. Completely exposed while the assassin cleaned his wound, wrapped his broken rib. Mac has no way of knowing how much time has passed since the warehouse, really. Murdoc could have taken his time, drawn it out...

 

A frigid shiver crawls up Mac's spine. The helplessness of the unknown is so much worse than any of Murdoc’s unwanted touches now.

 

At least… at least Jack had been there. Judging by the deathgrip the other agent has on the arms of his chair, the taunting must have continued throughout Murdoc’s little operation. Mac can only imagine what threats the maniac dangled in front of Jack while working on his unconscious partner. Jack looks drawn out, but his fury remains clear.

 

“Still, you’re lucky ‘til the end, now aren’t you?” Murdoc continues. “Well… maybe not _that_ lucky. I’m feeling like the real prizewinner today.” He steps back and lifts his arms to gesture at his captives. “Not just one, but TWO Phoenix agents! What a haul.”

 

The motion draws Mac’s eyes to the corner of the room, where an innocuous black toolbox sits in shadow. A similar kit had been left behind after the last kidnapping, and Phoenix forensics had cataloged every last tool inside. Bozer had steadfastly refused to update Mac on the details, clearly shaken by the implications of what they found in the box.

 

Murdoc’s eyes glint with a thrill when he sees Mac make the connection. His smirk grows impossibly wider.

 

Letting the assassin gloat is getting them nowhere, but maybe he can goad Murdoc into giving them some answers. Mac rattles his handcuffs. “You really think these are going to keep me here?”

 

“No no, not at all,” Murdoc says. “You see, I’ve long since given up on the idea that any cage could hold you, little mouse.” He taps the handgun twice on Jack’s shoulder for emphasis, disturbingly nonchalant with the deadly weapon. “That’s why I’m so fortunate to have dear old Dalton here. To… discourage you from any such attempts.”

 

“What do you want,” Mac asks, barely forming a question as his tone hardens. Jack is not a bargaining chip.

 

Murdoc abruptly drops to seriousness. All expression fades from his face as he locks eyes with Mac, focused and unblinking. His voice pitches dangerously low. “Oh I want a great many things, Angus.”

 

Shadows drift across Murdoc’s face while he paces, dark gaze clinging to Mac as the hitman walks a slow circle around the two chairs. The cold fixation finally melts, and Murdoc’s eyes shift away. Mac swallows against the knot in his throat. Murdoc stops in front of Jack, hands settling over the duct tape at his captive’s wrists.

 

“But right now, I want you to tell me the location of Phoenix’s California safehouses,” Murdoc says. The expectant pause is met only with Jack narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He stays silent, as if weighing whether this is a trick question, and Murdoc heaves a put upon sigh.

 

 _“Obviously_ this implies permission to talk now. I mean jeez, one little threat about gutting like a fish and people get sooo touchy.” Murdoc slides effortlessly from sarcastic to solemn. “I want coordinates. Speak up, cowboy.”

 

“Well I'd like a medium rare steak, but we can’t always get what we want," Jack immediately snarks. “How ‘bout you take a long walk off a short pier?” He’s pushing, burying his anger under ridicule in an attempt to get a rise out of Murdoc. And it always works. Mac tenses for the retaliation that’s sure to answer.

 

But instead of getting mad or lashing out, Murdoc just smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

 

And then he turns on Mac.

 

The blonde agent’s head snaps to the side, Murdoc’s knuckles crashing into his cheek with a jaw-shaking thud. Copper spills across his tongue, and Mac swallows it rather than spit evidence of the force behind the blow. He won’t give Murdoc the satisfaction.

 

But the assassin has already turned away to watch Jack jolt forward. Murdoc’s lips pull into a furtive grin, as if witnessing a theory proved true, but he doesn’t comment on the response.

 

Instead, Murdoc returns to the lilt of casual conversation as if uninterrupted. “The whole reason I took this job was that it appealed to my interests so neatly. It’s always nice to combine work and play.”

 

“Job?” Mac groans.

 

“And when I heard how the assignment may require me to go through two particular field agents? Why, I was _just_ ecstatic.” Murdoc’s voice switches to mocking concern. “Your little hacker friend was getting a bit... too... close to my client’s private finances. Gun traffickers get rather touchy about that, you know.”

 

Riley. He’s after Riley.

 

“You stay the hell away from her,” Jack starts. “You touch one hair on that girl’s head and I’ll-”

 

“Unfortunately, it seems your darling director is more competent than expected,” Murdoc says, expression souring and frustration overshadowing his earlier glee. “As soon as I moved on you two, Matilda pulled the rest of your little group into protective custody. She’s made it a challenge - one I expect to win.”

 

He leans toward Mac and presses his hand into the smaller man’s side, fingers prodding just above the bulletwound. MacGyver hisses through his teeth as a fresh wave of fire sears across his nerves.

 

“So now you’re going to tell me where to find Miss Davis,” Murdoc says, pressing harder still and watching Mac wilt away from the pressure. The broken rib shifts ever so slightly, edges of the bone grinding and sharp dots of pain sparking within his chest. Mac breathes through his nose rather than make a sound.

 

Jack tugs against his restraints, more urgent this time. “Why don’t you come over here and try asking me, huh? I’ll be more than happy to shove these stupid questions where the sun don’t shine, you crazy bag of cats.”

 

Murdoc withdraws, and Mac blinks the fuzziness from his vision in time to see Murdoc’s hand tighten on the gun. He can’t shout a warning as Murdoc spins.

 

The pistol comes up - but not to shoot. Murdoc swings the grip down instead. It cracks into Jack’s temple, sending him reeling sideways in the chair. Jack shakes it off with a scowl, a trickle of blood curling from his hairline as the agent slowly rights himself. Murdoc winds back to hit him again... but visibly reels himself in, leather-clad shoulders relaxing into a deceptive calm. Mac’s heart squeezes.

 

“Oh Jack. While I do enjoy putting you in your place, I know you won’t tell me anything... no matter how many fragile little bones I snap.” Murdoc pats Jack’s cheek a little too forcefully, then walks over to collect something from his toolbox. He rummages through clattering metal and clinking knives before turning back.

 

“I only know one way to make you break, Agent Dalton.”

 

The stun gun crackles in a small burst, blue light rattling out of the handle with the distinctive whine of discharged electricity. The assassin stares down Jack as he approaches, and all Mac can do is tug uselessly at his handcuffs. The upward motion pulls at the wound on Mac’s side - _but Murdoc is going to hurt Jack_ , going to torture his partner right here in front of him. And there's no way Jack will go down easy. Mac needs to do something, anything to stop it. Make a lockpick, unscrew a bolt in the chair, pull until his wrists go bloody...

 

Murdoc prowls closer, heavy black stun gun held in a firm grip. Jack’s nostrils flare slightly in anticipation of pain, arms pressing up against the duct tape on his skin. He says nothing, still defiant.

 

But at the last second - Murdoc turns. He jabs the weapon into the soft flesh of Mac’s neck, and Jack can only yell in shock.

 

Mac can’t shout, can’t blink, can’t do anything but let the pulse of electricity crash through his body. His muscles freeze in an endless cramp and his teeth snap together with a grunt. Jack is yelling across from him, but Mac isn’t able to focus enough on the sound to pick out words.

 

Time slows and stretches, pain intensifying with every click of the cartridge. In the back of Mac’s mind, he can unpack each element of the device - recognizes the buzz of the amplifier as it feeds power to the electrodes pressed against his flesh. MacGyver could explain exactly how the prongs dump a thousand volts directly into his muscles, and he knows that the energy can make moments feel like hours.

 

The current is an icy vice around his lungs. Mac wants to gasp, but his chest muscles won’t expand. A warm throb kicks in beneath the white of his bandages.

 

Worse than the sweeping voltage, though, is the helplessness. Murdoc’s face swims above him, grinning as he presses closer in thrilled curiosity. Mac can’t even pull away. His hands twist uselessly against the chair. He’s been shocked before, but it doesn’t stop his panicked brain from wondering if the current will ever stop. _Breathe, he needs to breathe!!_

 

Finally, Murdoc must decide he’s had enough, and the assassin pulls the stun gun back. The pain immediately recedes and Mac drags in a heaving gasp, desperate to fill his empty lungs. The broken rib screeches protest. Mac struggles to inhale around the stinging ache in his chest.

 

“Mac, Mac talk to me brother,” Jack repeats, almost pleading. Something trickles down Mac’s side, and he vaguely wonders if the bullet wound is bleeding again. His arms shudder in a residual spasm.

 

Murdoc chuckles to himself as he twirls the weapon. Jack curses and tugs violently against the duct tape. _He’s going to dislocate his own wrists at this rate,_ Mac absently registers. He wants to say something to warn the other agent, but his numb lips won’t form the words right.

 

“Has that helped jog your memory, or shall we go another round?” Murdoc asks Jack.

 

Mac makes eye contact with his partner, shaking his head slightly as he pants. They’re not going to give this maniac anything. Jack’s expression flashes with desperate concern, but Mac tilts his head forward slightly, brows drawing together in a stubborn denial. _We can’t._

 

At the thought of Riley, Jack’s face finally hardens to steel resolve. He clenches his mouth shut, body straining with the need to stop Murdoc from hurting Mac further, and says nothing. What choice does Jack have but to agree with Mac’s request?

 

Murdoc must catch the exchange, and an obsessive focus crosses their captor’s features. Whether he’s resentful of their silent interaction or excited by their determined resistance, Mac can’t tell.

 

“It’s very simple,” Murdoc says. “Either you tell me what I want, or I get to do what I please.”

 

Silence.

 

Murdoc shrugs and turns away from Jack. “Fine. It’s a win-win for me, so you just shout when you’re ready to switch things up.”  

 

He crackles the stun gun again, and Mac flinches. His shoulders roll forward protectively, instinct making him cringe away from the sound. Murdoc’s anticipatory smile curls even wider.

 _  
_“And Angus hurts so pretty after all.”

 

.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think - will Jack get angrier over time, or would watching Mac suffer break him down? How far would Murdoc have to push? _What should he do to Mac??_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Next chapter: Jack POV as Murdoc’s priorities change...**


	3. Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escape has never seemed further away, but Murdoc isn't done tormenting Mac and Jack quite yet. Especially when a new lead on Riley changes the assassin's priorities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! I was on the road but now we're _back in business!!_

.

 

.

 

Jack hurts, inside and out. He can only imagine how terrible his partner feels, slumped in the chair across from him while they wait for Murdoc to return again. Mac shifts slightly. It looks like he's coming back around, at least. Mac groans, and Jack holds back the tidal wave of worry just long enough for Mac to get his bearings.

 

“Easy there. How’re you feeling?”

 

“Like I’ve been shot and then electrocuted for a couple hours.”

 

“...that’s not funny, dude.”

 

“It’s a little funny.” 

 

Mac flashes an exhausted smile, and Jack has to huff at the kid’s resiliency. Mac is forever tougher than he looks. But deadpan humor can only go so far to distract from the reality of the shadowy basement around them.

 

Mac had passed out after a few hits with the stun gun. Jack figures there’s no way he could breathe right, what with the busted rib. Murdoc had been disappointed, poking and prodding at Mac’s bulletwound to wake him up again. The pain, and the loud crackle of electricity, brought him flinching back into awareness each time.

 

By the third round, Mac had stopped responding past a few groans and twitches. Jack still isn’t sure if he’s grateful for the reprieve.

 

With Mac down for the count, Murdoc had gotten… bored. He’d tried the stun gun on Jack a few times, but it was clearly more for entertainment than any real attempt to get the safehouse coordinates. If Jack had managed to bite his tongue during Mac’s interrogation, then there was  _ no chance _ of him giving up that information to save himself.

 

Murdoc has been in and out since then. Always for different amounts of time, each return sudden and unannounced. 

 

Jack wonders what’s going on outside of this room, of course, how Phoenix is handling the situation - but any efforts to find out for themselves have ended… poorly. Mac had been halfway through bending a rivet off his handcuffs when Murdoc’s return caught them by surprise. Jack’s got two broken fingers on his left hand now, and Mac hasn’t reached for his cuffs since.

 

For now, escape has taken a backseat. Jack just wants to make sure his partner’s okay.

 

“Chest hurts,” Mac admits. He draws a slow, reluctant breath. “Feels like my… my ribs don’t want to stretch anymore. Intercostal? That’s the- yeah, intercostal muscles.” He nods absently to himself.

 

They’re both strung out; Mac bearing the brunt of Murdoc’s attention, and Jack having to just sit here and  _ watch it _ . He wishes he could ask the kid to come up with a scheme - some crazy impossible solution that only MacGyver could pull out of nowhere. But one look at the weary form across from him has the request sinking out of Jack’s mind.

 

Shivers dance across Mac’s bare chest, a thin sheen of sweat doing nothing to help him amid the chill of the basement. At least, Jack assumes it’s a basement - rotting staircase, windowless walls, and apparently no one around to hear Jack’s shouting or Mac’s clenched screams.

 

But Mac has been quiet for a while now, screams shifting to groans melting into whimpers. His face is more drawn each time he wakes, brief bouts of unconsciousness doing little to ease the exhaustion. Mac hasn’t given himself a break though, still wracking his fatigued brain for a solution.

 

“M-my chair is damaged. There’s a crack in the wood here. It’s small but it, uh, runs all the way to the seatback. That’s something? I can work with that. Maybe I could, um.” Mac twists to try and look over his shoulder, but hisses when the movement aggravates the wound in his side. A fresh dot of red seeps through the bandages, blooming around the rusty brown of old blood. 

 

Mac stiffens, breathing through the pain. Jack notices that he doesn’t bother finishing the half-baked chair idea. Even for Mac, they don’t have a lot of escape options down here. And the poor guy looks so tired.

 

“Listen,” Jack starts. “Maybe we need to consider…  _ just consider  _ giving him a location.” Mac’s head lifts with a jolt, scowl already forming at the mere suggestion. The older agent hurries to continue. 

 

“We don’t even know which of the multiple Matty-prepped safehouses Riley is in, and I'm sure you could calculate the odds of us picking the right one on our first try.” Jack sees the familiar flash of mathematics in his partner’s dull eyes. The distracting lure of statistical analysis is enough to make Mac stop and think. “It's low, right? We’re talking a real shot in the dark here.”

 

Jack’s eyes dip down to the welts on Mac’s chest and neck, leftover burns from the jolting sizzle of the stun gun prongs. The broken fingers on Jack’s hand spark with matching pain when they clench against the wooden arm of his chair. He has to make Mac understand.

 

“Riley has the whole foundation to protect her, and you know Matty and Boze wouldn’t let that maniac within a hundred miles of our girl.” Jack exhales, voice softening with a tinge of defeat. “But down here I… can’t protect you.”

 

Mac shakes his head, wincing as the motion rattles something painful in his head. Because  _ of course _ he disagrees. 

 

“No. Murdoc’s too dangerous,” Mac says. And doesn’t he know it, having been on the wrong side of the assassin’s temper for hours now. “Murdoc has killed targets under better protection than Phoenix could ever match, with just a picture to go on. We can’t take that risk. We can’t put Riley in danger if there’s a way to avoi-”

 

“He’s gonna kill ya, Mac.” The interruption tumbles from Jack’s lips like a confession. Mac falls silent and clenches his jaw. 

 

Jack glances down, just for a moment, but someone has to say what they’re both thinking. “He might not mean to, but… he’s gonna push you too far. Too hard. The tough guy act may fool Murdoc, sure, but I know damn well that you can’t take much more of this, hoss.”

 

Across the small gap, bruised and battered in his chair, Mac deflates. The wood of his chair creaks, handcuffs clinking as he slumps against the seatback again. Now that the words have been said aloud, it looks as if Mac can feel every burn and cut and contusion.

 

Seeing his partner back down just makes Jack more worried. Murdoc had really done a number on him, laughing at each new groan or gasp pulled from a defiant MacGyver. The assassin knew what he was doing, but all it took was one miscalculation - one second too long with the stun gun, or a single blade pressed too deep - and the game would be over. And after watching his delighted ministrations of the last few hours, Jack didn’t trust Murdoc not to lose sight of that fine line.

 

Jack’s had tried drawing Murdoc’s attention, but his relentless barrage of threats and jeers and challenges had no effect. His words only seemed to egg the psychopath on, really. 

 

And that was just it, wasn’t it? Murdoc knows how to hurt Jack. How to  _ really  _ hurt Jack. And watching Jack’s reaction, hearing him shout and snarl and plead - that’s what hurts Mac. Makes him all the more determined to hold Murdoc’s focus.

 

Usually they’re stronger together, but now the pair are keeping each other hostage.

 

A telltale whistle floats down the stairs, and Jack’s spine goes rigid with tension.  _ He's back. _ Mac pulls himself upright, painfully ready to face down whatever horror Murdoc is bringing with him this time. Slow footsteps thud down the staircase behind Jack, apparently in no hurry to reach the bottom. Mac’s eyes tighten into a determined frown as the whistling crosses the small room behind Jack.

 

When Murdoc finally steps into the circle of dim light cast above them, Jack’s eyes are drawn to a flash of steel that he recognizes immediately as his own cell phone. Mac had jokingly gotten him a heavy-duty case after turning his last device into a literal minesweeper. Jack had loved it - immediately fastening the metal case onto his phone. 

 

From this angle, he can see that Murdoc is casually swiping through the phone’s camera reel. Jack bristles. “Awful rude to go rummaging through a dude’s personal data, ya creep.” There had been a passcode on that. Someone unlocked it, someone clever enough to bypass the security system Riley wrote by hand. Murdoc has a friend.

 

Murdoc pinches his lips into a gleeful smile and ignores Jack’s comment. “Somebody's been trying quite hard to track you two down digitally,” the assassin mocks. “I wonder who that could be?”

 

Knowing Riley, she’s flagrantly broken the rules of protective custody and has been running her own trace on their phones. Jack’s arm twitches against the duct tape securing it to the chair.

 

“Our girl can code circles around whatever lowlife hacker you’ve got in your pocket,” Jack says, then scoffs. “Big scary Murdoc, forced to call GeekSquad to help him with the job.”

 

“I’m getting tired of listening to you, Dalton,” Murdoc remarks, still casually flipping through screens. He lifts the phone. “Say cheese, Angus.” Mac summons a glare just in time for the sound of a camera shutter.  _ Goddammit. _

 

“You gonna add that to your gruesome assassin scrapbook? You can show that to Cassian when he asks what you’ve been up to.” Jack knows what he’s doing, knows the risk of prodding at this subject. “That poor kid outta run far and fast from you.”

 

Murdoc finally looks over at Jack, eyes narrowing in disdain as he tucks the phone away. The steel case glints from his front hip pocket.

 

“I warned you.”

 

The assassin stalks toward his supply kit, and Jack just keeps going. He throws every taunt he knows, insulting Murdoc’s hair, his mother, his stupid goddamn leather jacket. Anything to piss him off. Like hell Jack is gonna sit here and watch Murdoc carve into Mac again.

 

The familiar screech of unravelling duct tape jolts across the room. Murdoc calmly secures a thick strip of it Jack’s mouth, leaving him glowering.

 

“The thing is,” Murdoc says, leaning back in satisfaction, “Now that I have someone working on a reverse trace… it looks like I don’t need any information from you after all.” 

 

Jack has just enough time to process the words before a gun appears in Murdoc’s hand. HK P30 pistol, Jack’s mind immediately supplies. 9mm, compact, and Jack’s fingers twitch with the knowledge of how best to twist it out of an enemy’s grip - if he weren’t duct taped to a goddamn chair. 

 

Murdoc calmly chambers a round and levels the gun at Jack.

 

But this ain’t his first rodeo. Jack barely bothers to glance at the pistol, shifting his attention smoothly to Murdoc’s focused expression. He expects to see anger, or maybe irritation. Some stirring of annoyance in those flat black eyes.

 

Instead… Jack’s glare meets excitement. Murdoc bleeds a growing impatience, staring down the barrel at MacGyver’s most dedicated protector. Jack sees the reflected memory of how many times he’s gotten between Murdoc and Mac already. Recognizes the sick anticipation of removing a perpetual thorn in Murdoc’s side. And Jack  _ knows _ .

 

“I’ve been looking forward to this, Dalton.” It’s not a threat. Just a statement of fact. Murdoc’s shoulders are lax, arm extended confidently into Jack’s space. Every nuance of body language confirms it:

 

Murdoc is more than ready to pull the trigger.

 

And Mac must realize it too, going by the panicked look Jack catches from beside Murdoc’s looming silhouette. But Jack can’t speak past the duct tape, can’t say goodbye to his partner. Can’t even tell Murdoc he’ll see him in hell.

 

Jack braces, and Mac starts talking. Tries to pull Murdoc’s focus.

 

“No. You still need us, I won’t tell you anything unless y-”

 

The P30 clicks softly as Murdoc’s thumb pulls back on the hammer. The motion is agonizingly slow, as if he's savoring the feeling of having the gun sight centered on Jack. Jack’s pulse thuds in his ears, and he doesn’t dare blink.

 

Mac talks faster now.

 

“H-hey! No, Murdoc, I thought you liked a challenge, huh? You were going to make him talk. You want the- the safehouse coordinates. He’s the one who knows them, and...” Blue eyes flick desperately between Jack’s steady gaze and Murdoc’s unwavering shoulder blades.

 

_ Thanks for trying, kid. _ But Jack brought this one on himself.

 

“No, no you can’t- just listen to me-”

 

The assassin’s finger squeezes ever so slightly on the trigger, and-

 

“PLEASE!” Mac finally begs. His voices hitches, dangerously close to a sob. Murdoc stiffens in attention. All the strength seems to leak from Mac’s chest, and he droops forward.

 

“Please don’t do this Murdoc. I’ll tell you, okay, I’ll do anything, just don’t... don’t do this.” 

 

Jack watches Murdoc’s expression flip, a lightswitch snapping back to pleased achievement, and realizes what just happened. It was a con. All of it, every false emotion and signal the psychopath decided to project. And now Murdoc has gotten exactly what he wants. 

 

Jack’s heart breaks when their captor swivels. The duct tape seems to burn against Jack’s lips, muffling the furious words he tries to force through the silver.

 

“Anything?” Murdoc purrs. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, now.” The gun lowers as he steps toward Mac, prowling close enough to lean into the bloodied agent’s space. “I want you to think about what you’re offering, Angus…” 

 

Dark eyes narrow into a leering challenge. “...and say it again for me.”

 

Mac swallows once as he stares up at the assassin, lips pressing into whiteness against the words Murdoc wants to hear. Jack knows that Mac is not needlessly proud. The dude rummages through dumpsters and fakes surrender without a second thought. He’ll do whatever it takes to get a job done, and isn’t the type to get hung up on technicalities or shame.

 

But Murdoc’s demand isn’t about humiliation. It has nothing to do with the words. 

 

It’s control. 

 

Mac is giving their captor control. Murdoc told him to beg, and now Jack watches in horror as Mac obeys. He speaks up carefully, well aware of what he’s relinquishing.

 

“I’ll… I’ll do anything.”

 

Murdoc raises his eyebrows expectantly. Mac cringes against the taste of the word, but says it anyway. 

 

“ _ Please _ .” The request reveals too much, Mac’s breathy voice showing just how desperate he is to pull Murdoc’s attention away from his partner.

 

Jack shakes his head in adamant refusal, but Mac doesn’t take his eyes off Murdoc. They’re negotiating a silent deal.

 

Murdoc chuckles softly and steps closer still. Triumphant. “All this time playing hard to get, and I should have known. I just needed the right leverage.”

 

.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr as [tomminowrites!!](https://tomminowrites.tumblr.com/)
> 
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> 
> **  
> **  
> _Next Chapter: Jack POV as Murdoc takes advantage of this newfound control._  
> 


	4. "Anything"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll… I’ll do anything. Please.”
> 
> The request reveals too much, Mac’s breathy voice showing just how desperate he is to pull attention away from his partner.
> 
> Murdoc chuckles softly and steps closer still. Triumphant. “All this time playing hard to get, and I should have known. I just needed the right _leverage.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up:** It never passes into anything explicit, but Murdoc goes heavy on the creepy touching and insinuations. If you wanna skip it, just comment saying “what happens this chapter??” and I’ll be super happy to give a summary so you’re still in the loop for future updates!
> 
> Otherwise… enjoy.

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Mac lifts his chin with a defiant tilt, staring up unflinchingly even as Murdoc leans forward to level with those defiant blue eyes. The gun hangs forgotten at his side, Jack completely ignored now that their captor has a new game to play.

 

Murdoc clenches a fist, and Jack can’t help but wince in anticipation of the first blow. The last thing the kid needs right now is another beating - not when he’s still sore and bleeding, quivering under the strain of his broken rib. Murdoc lifts his arm, knuckles braced…

 

...and relaxes his fist at the last second. Jack stares. Instead of swinging forward with a punch, Murdoc reaches to cup a palm around Mac’s cheek. Mac flinches away from the gentle touch.

 

“Now, now,” Murdoc chastens softly. “You said _anything.”_ He taps the pistol gently against the wooden chair in reminder.

 

And Mac - impossibly, infuriatingly… relents. Muscle by muscle, he releases the tension holding him away from Murdoc. Wilting forward into the touch, he lets the pale hand curve around his face in a clinging caress. Murdoc lets out a soft coo of satisfaction. He has his back to Jack now, but Jack knows the exact sickening smile plastered on Murdoc’s face. Just picturing it makes him livid.

 

Jack is positioned to see every nuance of MacGyver’s expression, though. The kid is still holding Murdoc’s gaze, but doesn’t pull away at all. Doesn’t say a word - even as Jack watches discomfort creep ever higher up the back of Mac’s neck.

 

Nothing hurts Mac more than feeling powerless.

 

Jack tries again to stretch his jaw against the duct tape. He had thought that watching Murdoc torture Mac was the worst torment, but there’s no way Jack’s going to be able to sit here as the psychopath runs his hands all over an unresisting Mac.

 

 _“Get your slimy touch off him,”_ Jack tries. The threat is lost behind the gag, and Murdoc doesn’t bother looking back.

 

He just shifts closer, fingers sliding along Mac’s jaw to take a firm hold of his chin. Murdoc smiles as he brushes a thumb over Mac’s lower lip, transfixed. Mac stares back with a cool resentment that Jack knows is taking all of Mac’s concentration to maintain.

 

The thumb presses into an area where plush flesh has split, dragging at Mac’s lip enough to make the agent hiss. The slip makes Murdoc tighten his grip in excitement, nails clasping painful divots against Mac’s cheeks. He tilts Mac’s head to a higher angle.

 

Staring up at his spellbound captor.

 

“Remember now, Angus. You chose this.”

 

Just as Jack takes a breath to start snarling through the tape again, he sees Mac’s hands shift silently in the cuffs. Nimble fingers reach toward Murdoc’s pocket, metal flashing as Mac tucks away his prize.

 

Jack’s phone.

 

Murdoc never even glances down, and Mac’s gaze flicks over to meet Jack for a moment of silent connection. Blue eyes widen a meaningful fraction. Jack knows what it means, knows what the kid’s requesting. MacGyver has a plan, and now they just need to ride this out.

 

No distractions. No heroics. Let him work.

 

But when Murdoc's caress slides along the side of Mac’s neck, Jack doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold back. Murdoc flattens his palm and slowly drags down his captive’s chest, path detouring to brush over various burns and bruises.

 

“I almost don’t know where to start. Soooo many fun games we could play together, things I want to try.” Murdoc’s voice is low, lost in thought. Mac's breath hitches when two fingers twist a teasing pinch into the skin beside his bulletwound.

 

The relentless touch keeps moving, skipping across the bloody waistline of Mac’s pants to dance fingertips down the edges of his thighs. Mac shifts uncomfortably when the hand comes to grip his knees, squeezing possessively around the joint.

 

“Did I remember to pack the hammer?” Murdoc tilts his head, contemplative. He drums his fingers indulgently against Mac’s leg. _Taptaptaptap._ “I could shatter one of your kneecaps, you know. Then we wouldn’t need those pesky cuffs to keep you in place.” Mac pales, and Jack nearly chokes on his tongue when the duct tape stifles his gasp of horror.

 

“And I bet you’d make such lovely noises...” He mimes a slow swing of his fist toward Mac’s knee, finishing the gesture by whispering _“powww!”_ and flaring his hand like an explosion.

 

Mac’s leg twitches with a jolt of tension, and Murdoc basks in his captive’s reaction. But he lets go, abruptly rising to tuck the pistol away. More mind games.

 

Jack closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get the thrumming pressure in his blood under control. Murdoc is messing with them. And Mac has a plan. He has the phone, he’s going to do something with it. Don’t screw it up by interfering.

 

Jack gives a tug at his taped wrists nonetheless.

 

Murdoc circles like a shark, both hands now free to roam. Mac’s eyes track him as far as he can until the assassin passes behind him. One hand trails across the back of his shoulders to let Mac know exactly where Murdoc is pacing. Slowly, so slowly. A lingering touch.

 

Mac opts for staring dead ahead, jaw set. Jack tries to catch his eye, but MacGyver’s gaze is unfocused - looking past his partner as every other sense focuses on the prickling sensation of Murdoc behind him. They both wait for Murdoc’s subdued temperament to change.

 

Snake-quick, the hand jumps from Mac’s collarbone to his hair, fingers curling into a tight grip and tugging Mac’s head sideways. The sudden position strains his neck, heartbeat fluttering in the exposed pulsepoint. But Mac doesn’t make a sound.

 

Murdoc pulls a little harder, clearly disappointed.

 

“Well it’s not very fun if you don’t respond _at all,”_ he pouts. Murdoc glances over at Jack, possessiveness paired with a knowing leer. His voice drops to a stage whisper. “Is it because we have an audience? Trying to keep a lid on all those exquisite reactions I feel shivering up your spine?”

 

He walks two fingers up the side of Mac’s bare neck, and Jack watches Mac fight the urge to cringe away.

 

It’s too much. Jack can’t possibly stop the growl that rumbles out of his chest. Murdoc’s attention flickers, shifting to his previously-ignored captive. But Jack welcomes it, meeting the annoyed look with his own furious expression. _Let go. Let go of him_ **_now_ ** _._

 

Murdoc’s hold loosens with his distraction, blond hair sliding out from his fingers and giving Mac some small freedom to move again. Murdoc turns slightly, as if considering whether to move to Jack.

 

Mac is staring at Jack too, fear growing as he sees Murdoc refocus. The edges of his eyes tighten, lips pressing together in determination. Jack knows that look. A decision.

 

Reluctantly, as if the motion is painful, Mac pushes his head back - all but _nuzzling_ into Murdoc’s hand. The deliberate motion tangles him into the assassin’s fingers anew, and Murdoc’s gaze immediately snaps down to meet Mac’s scowl.

 

“We had a deal,” Mac forces out.

 

Murdoc’s eyes widen in thrilled delight. “A man of his word!” he trills, teeth flashing in an overjoyed grin. “And here I had you pegged as just another tease.”

 

Jack’s interruption is now completely forgotten. Murdoc slides behind MacGyver again, hand leaving his hair to curve possessively around the back of his neck.

 

“Now you mean it, don’t you? Anything.” Murdoc sighs contentedly. He’s taking his time, deliberately setting Mac on edge again. “But what do I ask for? Where to start, where to start… now that I have you where I want you?”

 

He leans closer, face hovering just beside Mac’s own. Too close. His free hand reaches past the chair to wrap around Mac’s waist, fingertips fluttering at the bloody bandages and pulling MacGyver close. The back of the chair is the only thing keeping Murdoc from pressing flush.

 

“How ‘bout a kiss?” he murmurs. Murdoc dips his head to press his mouth to the side of Mac’s neck, lips just barely brushing over trembling skin. Mac’s shoulder jerks in a half-stifled flinch, and his chest swells with a sharp inhale. Murdoc drifts higher, nosing at Mac’s hairline as he whispers something into his captive’s ear.

 

The assassin stares directly at Jack as he does it, smirking.

 

Worse, though, is Mac’s reaction. His disgust and confusion melts into… shock, as whatever Murdoc is saying sinks in. His throat bobs with a horrified swallow, realization drying his mouth and making his face pale even further.

 

For the first time since this new nightmare started, Mac’s eyes flash to meet Jack’s. And Mac finally sees him now, no longer looking past him or around him. Just for a moment, on instinct, Mac turns to his partner. Afraid.

 

All the fury and violence simmering in Jack’s veins slows to a stop. Instead of the heat of anger, he feels chilled. Frozen in horror as he’s forced to watch Mac grow too disturbed to even keep up a brave front.

 

But Jack watches the fear coagulate like a dripping wound, and Mac’s expression shifts. He stares intently at Jack - not looking for reassurance, but as if needing a reminder.

 

Of why he’s going to sit there and take it.

 

Jack can tell the kid is squirming out of his own skin when Murdoc presses another kiss behind his ear, but MacGyver bottles it up anyway - tamps down on the disgust and, _jesus,_ tilts his head to allow Murdoc more room. Opening himself up, all because Jack will die if Mac doesn’t honor the ‘deal’ he’s struck.

 

Murdoc practically purrs in satisfaction, and his mouth latches on to the newly exposed area with bruising pressure. He drags blunt nails down Mac’s chest, leaving a pink line of welts. Mac tries to curl over the stinging motion, but doesn’t get far. An involuntary whine escapes from between his clenched lips.

 

Jack is already throwing himself forward with a grunt, body reacting on instinct to Mac’s distressed sound. The chair lurches as the duct tape holds him back. It’s enough to make Murdoc look up, lifting away from a purpling mark on Mac’s neck.

 

“Oh I’m sorry,” he drawls remorselessly. “Are we making you... uncomfortable, Dalton?”

 

The sick bastard is enjoying every aspect of this - not just by having his hands on MacGyver, but in forcing Jack to _watch_. Making Mac balance his reactions, rein back his resistance in front of his partner. Using them against each other so completely.

 

Jack blood starts to heat again. Murdoc never intended to kill Jack, that much is clear. The psychopath clearly knew enough about human emotion to fake a reaction out of his captives - but in reality, Murdoc doesn’t just want Mac. He wants an audience. He needs Jack, to make him suffer and to keep Mac playing this revolting game.

 

“You’ll have to excuse my poor table manners. But really, can you blame me?” Murdoc says, raking a hungry gaze across Mac. The look clings with a physical touch of its own. His eyes linger on Mac’s chest, rising and falling unevenly as the disheveled agent fights through a few rattling breaths. “He does look _delicious_ like this.”

 

The boiling fury is back now, rushing through Jack’s veins. Murdoc has kept him around to paralyze Mac into obedience, unwilling to fight back for fear of getting Jack killed.

 

Either he’s dead, or he’s being used against the kid. Jack knows which option he’d prefer.

  
But in a twisted way, it means that Murdoc _needs_ Jack alive. So he’ll call Murdoc’s bluff, do whatever it takes to put an end to this.

 

Jack starts yelling, shouting every profanity he knows against the duct tape. The words are garbled, but his meaning remains crystal clear. Mac startles at the outburst, and Murdoc’s expression sours at the sudden disturbance. Jack keeps going, as loud as he can and thrashing against his bonds anew. He pulls and twists wildly against the restraints on his legs and wrists. The creaky wooden chair rocks with the motion.

 

“Enough,” Murdoc hisses. “Shut your mouth or you’ll be spitting out teeth.”

 

Jack doesn’t give a single damn, continuing to sneer up at Murdoc. He welcomes the ticked-off frustration drifting over the assassin like a stormcloud. Mac shakes his head, eyes wide as he watches Jack collect every ounce of Murdoc’s attention.

 

“Fine then. Show’s over.” Murdoc strides past him, grabbing the back of Jack’s chair and hauling it away. Jack has a moment to be surprised before he’s jerked backward. A small part of him wonders if maybe… he was wrong. Maybe Murdoc really will make good on his threats. But the maniac’s hands are off of Mac, and that satisfaction is relief enough to cover up any thoughts of regret in Jack’s mind.

 

Mac is panicking for real now, shouting and struggling against the cuffs.

 

“No! NO, Murdoc we had a **deal!!** You said you wouldn’t! You said if-”

 

Murdoc drags Jack around the corner, rotting staircase finally visible as they enter the next room and leave Mac’s line of sight. The kid keeps shouting, voice cracking as a sob threatens to chase its way up his throat. Murdoc abruptly releases and lets Jack tip over onto his back with a crash.

 

A piece of the wooden chair snaps from the impact, jabbing painfully into Jack’s lower back. His head hits the floor a moment later, and a flash of white bursts across his vision - neck jarring painfully. The sensation is almost lost under the spiraling wave of dizziness and nausea that follows his fall.

 

Jack’s vision blurs dangerously, but he can look up far enough to see Murdoc level the gun at his chest. A dull ringing floods his ears.

 

“Any last words, Jack Dalton?”

 

 _Fuck you,_ Jack snarls through the duct tape. He’s not going to give this prick the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. Mac’s shouting is hoarse, begging and pleading from the other room as he hears Murdoc’s question. Jack stares unflinchingly even as his vision tunnels toward blackness. He refuses to pass out yet. He’ll take the bullet furious, and face death spitting fire.

 

But... Murdoc raises a finger to his lips in a hush gesture. He silently shifts the muzzle of the gun, pointing harmlessly to the side of where Jack lies sprawled.

 

With a wink and a curdling smirk, Murdoc pulls the trigger.

 

The shot bites into the concrete beside Jack, and he realizes too late the new game Murdoc is playing. Unconsciousness claws at him before he can make a sound, pulling him into darkness.

  
Around the corner, Mac _screams._

 

_._

 

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m dyingggg to know what you think :D I’ve kept this plotpoint secret for months now!!! asdfasdfasdg
> 
>  **Next Chapter: Mac POV, _and I need your help._**  
>  Should Mac be furious, viciously reactive? ...Or will he be broken, shellshocked in the aftermath??


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